Quick Update

I didn't realize how long it's been since I updated anything to the blog. Things have been super hectic here, and while we're still trying to hold on to that spiritual infusion we got over the past few weeks, our lives in the alma d'shikra continue.

A lot has been going on lately, a lot of new changes and adjustments - some good, some less apparently so.

At the risk of being the bearer of bad news, my grandfather (my father's father) passed away this morning, and I have been mulling over what I would like to share about him. I plan on doing so at a later date (in the near future), but as it is currently Rosh Chodesh, we are not supposed to eulogize and the temptation would be too great. Please check in later this week for something more.

Besurot tovot.

A Life Apart

This is a "must watch" documentary that I mentioned a while back in a post about Reb Shlomo Halberstam, the Bobover Rebbe OBM.

The full version is now available on YouTube. Hat tip to Rebbe Clips.

Thoughts on the Holocaust

I just finished reading an amazing book concerning the Shoah, specifically the spiritual resilience of those religious Jews in the the ghettos and camps. With God in Hell: Judaism in the Ghettos and Deathcamps, by Rabbi Eliezer Berkovits is a compelling, gripping narrative of the battle of the Jew's eternal soul against the onslaught of the Nazi German death machine. Full of inspiring anecdotes about *regular* Jews and the lengths they went to in order to fulfill the slightest shadow of a mitzvah, Rabbi Berkovits shows us that Jewish pride was upheld not by singular moments of astonishing heroism by a few individuals, but rather on a constant basis by every single Jew who struggled to serve his Creator despite (or more appropriately, in spite of) the insufferable conditions. Throughout the book, Rabbi Berkovits (a survivor himself) pulls back from the wartime narrative to discuss the behavior and psyche of the religious Jew during these times, examining what drove the Jew to defy the horrors he faced on a daily, hourly, minute-to-minute basis.

A brief excerpt that jumped out at me:

To surrender one's life for the "sanctification of the Name" is the highest mitzvah of all, but the Jews in the ghettos an concentration camps had no previous experience in fulfilling this particular commandment.
Thus the question arose: what was the correct formula for the blessing prior to the mitzvah of Kiddush haShem? Of course, the question was not altogether a matter of ignorance. On the contrary, it was prompted by a discussion in the Talmud, dealing not specifically with Kiddush haShem but generally with all categories of divine commandments.
How is one to bless an to thank God before one dies in fulfillment of the commandment of sanctifying His great name?
Uncomprehendingly we stand before our people, the Jews.
Overwhelmed by awe, we stand before these human beings, flesh like our own flesh, bones like our bones, who in the midst of the miseries of the ghetto and the sufferings of the death camps, were preoccupied with the question of what was the correct formula for blessing and thanking God when their ultimate hour would arrive! Even in Auschwitz, Maidanek, Birkenau, and Buchenwald..."Blessed art Thou, Eternal, our God, who hast commanded us through His commandments and commanded us to sanctify His name in public."

Admittedly, I have a slight obsession with the Holocaust; as a grandchild of survivors who was partially raised by them (we lived around the corner from my mother's parents - they had nearly as much a hand in raising me as my own parents), I grew up with "the War" as a permanent fixture in my life. The War, which had so totally altered my grandparents' lives in an indelible way - shaping their world view and their approach to even the most seemingly trivial things in life - continued to influence my parents' and my own upbringing.

We were taught never to waste a morsel of food; this teaching extended to other areas of life, but became most prominent at mealtime. While I've heard disparaging talk about how this is an indicator of some sort of "unfortunate residual scarring" (not my own words, God forbid) as a result of the utter starvation experienced in the camps(which subsequently "burden" the children and grandchildren of those survivors...again, not my own words), I only see the benefit of having learned not to be a glutton or a spendthrift. Moreover, I had to acknowledge the consequences of my own greediness - no matter what, I had to finish what I took onto my plate, even if it took all night.

I learned to appreciate what I had, both in terms of material possessions as well as the religious freedoms I was lucky to experience. My parents never missed an opportunity to remind me of how lucky I was to have grandparents, as they in turn had been reminded of their fortune to grow up with parents - a "luxury" many survivors couldn't claim as their own. To live as a Jew without fear of persecution in this great country; to be able to cross borders with ease and expedience; to visit the Holy Land in comfort and health - so much to be thankful for, and more.

As I got older, I felt an urge to learn more about this cataclysmic event that my beloved grandparents had endured. I began to read volumes upon volumes of books about the subject. Personal testimonies, historic overviews from both Jewish and non-Jewish sources, and philosophical treatises written both during and after the war that attempted to put this enormous tragedy into some sort of perspective. The philosophies always had a certain draw; how can anyone deny the implications about God and His providence that the terrible accounts of the Nazi horrors seemed to make? As a microcosm, the Holocaust contains all the important existential questions that a thinking, feeling human (and certainly a Jew) must ask about his Creator. But these questions carried with them a certain danger, as well. In my teenage years, the Holocaust served as a convenient peg to hang all of my rebellious behavior upon. Unjustifiably, I would point my finger toward the past, as if to say that the experiences that my grandfather went through at the hands of cruel humans who God allowed to mercilessly slaughter millions of Jews (and others) gave me license to disobey His divine Word. The irony of such a stance gradually became clearer as I matured, and witnessed those who actually went through the war, suffered, and yet continued to be faithful God fearing Jews. Some (like my grandfather, who should live and be well) even attributed the Holocaust to being an event that buttressed their faith, spurring them to become more religious, to affirm and uphold their beliefs with untold sacrifice of their own well being, in order to ensure that they survive and rebuild.

Only the hubris of youthful pseudo-intellectualism can view this dichotomy of the survivor's fervor and steadfastness vis-a-vis the one or two-generation removed descendant's rebellion in the name of the Holocaust, and not be bothered by the contradiction. This is only brought into very clear perspective by the below mini-documentary, which follows three generations (father-son-grandson) and their approach to the Holocaust.


This film disheartened me so much when I first saw it. The elderly survivor clearly recognizes the unseen Hand that guided him throughout the war, protecting him at every turn. His son and grandson, on the other hand, get lost in a cloud of confusion as they try to come to terms with something they didn't even experience, let alone relate to.

Another thing that was taught to me at a very early age was not to judge any survivor's personal life choices. While various teachers of mine shunned writers like Elie Wiesel and denigrated Nazi hunter Simon Wiesenthal as mechalelei Shabbat (Sabbath desecrators), we were taught that what they lived through was beyond our comprehension; to lambaste them for who they became as a result was not only disrespectful, it was disgraceful. Each in their own way, these men (and women) are honoring their fellow victims to the best of their capabilities. Their religiosity is a matter between them and God, with few others possessing the right to intervene, certainly not us.

The generation of survivors is slowly dwindling; my grandfather is the last remaining grandparent that I have today. Now, as he begins to approach the end of his days (until 120, amen), he has become more forthcoming with his own experiences. I find myself listening intently when I visit him; sometimes he is lucid, and his accounts hold me at attention. Other times, he rambles, a symptom of his age. Either way, I listen, because that is what we must do - listen, and bear witness for them when they no longer can.

Today is the yahrtzeit (anniversary of death) of my grandmother Liba bas Reb Tzvi, of blessed memory. She passed away nearly ten years ago after struggling for well over a decade with an illness that the doctors predicted she would survive through several months. She was an amazing woman, with an indomitable will to survive even the harshest of circumstances. She made it a point to tell others about her experiences in the holocaust, as a testimony and as an education for future generations.

Please have her in mind today during your learning and tefillot, so her neshama can merit an aliyah.

Understanding what's important

Reb Zusia of Anipoli and Reb Boruch of Medzhiboz were once traveling together, and called upon a wealthy chassid at his home. Wishing to properly accommodate them, their host brought them to a table set with food and drink, and asked them to partake. The host personally served them, catering to their every need while they ate.
At one point, the chassid asked Reb Zusia if he would like some pepper to go with his food. Reb Zusia politely declined; he didn't care for pepper. The chassid persisted, offering the pepper to Reb Zusia until he explained to his host that he didn't like pepper. The host relented, but not before commenting that he "loved pepper".


Reb Zusia stopped what he was doing. "What did you say?" he asked the host. Nervously, the host replied: "I was just musing that it's interesting that the rebbe doesn't like pepper; I love pepper!"


Reb Zusia turned to Reb Boruch. "Did you hear that?" he asked his companion, "he says he 'loves' pepper!" Reb Boruch nodded; he had heard it as well. Reb Zusia began to rock back and forth, chuckling and repeating the host's words to himself: "He loves pepper, he loves pepper, he loves it! He says so!" Gaining momentum, Reb Zusia began whispering "...but what does Zusia love? He loves pepper, but what do I love? What does Zusia love? I love HaShem. He loves pepper...and I love HaShem. I love HaShem! I love HaShem!"


Reb Zusia's eyes rolled up into the back of his head as he leaped up and began dancing around the table, in utter joy. "I love HaShem! Reb Boruch, do you hear? He loves pepper, and I love HaShem! I love Him!" Ecstatic, Reb Zusia jumped onto the table and started jumping up and down in fervor, all the while shouting for all to hear about the profound love he had for his Creator. As Reb Zusia danced, he knocked over everything on the table; the drinks, the food, and the pepper all went spilling over, much of it splashing onto Reb Boruch's coat.


Reb Boruch was more of the strong, silent type, not one for scenes of exuberance like his friend Reb Zusia. But after that event, the only times he ever wore that coat again was on Yom Kippur, and he asked to be buried in it.

Love is such a strong word, it can conjure up very strong feelings and should be used sparingly. Too often we belittle that special word when we associate it with things that are so very unimportant. "I love that food," "I love sleeping," "I loved that movie," etc.

One of the biggest problems that we face today is the skewing of our priorities, and our confusion concerning what is really important. This issue manifests itself in so many circumstances that we have all dealt with it at one point or another in our lives, and the situation is worsening. We place emphasis on the peripheral matters and lose focus of the main goals and ideals. It affects our approach to everything, especially when it comes to religious matters. Maybe it would be a good idea to clarify a few things:

When someone spends the majority of time during the prayers shmoozing in the back and sneaking out during kriyat haTorah to drink some schnapps, something is very wrong. The same can be said for those who believe that kedusha of Mussaf is the end of the session and begin folding their talleisim and setting up for kiddush. And you can't say anything because people will stare at you as if you've told them to renounce Judaism and covert to another religion, God forbid. Apparently, having one shot too many is the fourteenth principle of faith, followed by getting 12 hours-plus of sleep on the winter Friday nights (number fifteen).

When someone spends the majority of time during the prayers with his nose stuck in a sefer, something is very wrong. There is a time and place for everything; Torah learning is meant for any and all available time - but the time when we are in shul for prayers does not necessarily count as that. The chazzan's repetition is not designed as catch-up time for the Daf Yomi, daily Tehillim, or anything else (certainly not to go through the e-mails in your 'bulk' folder). We are supposed to participate fully in the services, with the attention and respect that it warrants as part of our service of God. I'm not saying that there is a violation of any halacha, per se (although the Mishna Berura does comment on the Chazarat HaSHaTZ issue), but this is a display of insensitivity toward one of the most important institutions of our faith. If the sages of previous generations felt that something was important and worthy enough of being incorporated universally into the structure of our tefillot, then it would behoove us to take it very seriously; I know that I wouldn't want Reb Shlomo Alkabetz to be waiting for me after 120 with complaints (in case you didn't know what I was referring to).

Reb Shlomo Freifeld was once asked about the significance of the "hat and jacket". He replied that "the look" meant nothing so long as the Jew underneath it didn't live up to the standards set forth by the Torah. While there is a lot of merit to the aspect of uniformity within our communities, that doesn't preclude the most important criteria of middot and adherence to halacha (there is also a strong basis for the hat and jacket concerning appropriate attire for tefilla, but this goes beyond that).

When it comes to learning, it's imperative to remember that quality is key, not quantity. Bekiyus is integral, of course, as we are enjoined to learn as much of God's Torah as possible (see Nefesh HaChaim) - but it must be really learned. We have such a lazy generation where we have study aids, super-super commentaries to the super commentaries that are on the commentaries that explain what the original meforshim were trying to point out - how are we ever expected to really learn how to learn properly? Our grandparents, indeed, the gedolim themselves didn't have all of the wonderful seforim that we have at our fingertips. They can learn because they worked at it with nothing but the original folio of gemara with RaSHI and Tosafos; the lucky ones had a RaMBaM or Maharsha to refer to. We're crippling ourselves and we don't even realize it.

Moreover, we must always keep in sight why we are learning. Regardless of one's affiliation (i.e. the students of the Ba'al Shem Tov or the Gaon of Vilna), we are learning the Torah to know God, to draw closer to Him, to glorify Him, and to obey His commandments. We are not learning Torah for the intellectual stimulation, or the egocentric feeling of accomplishment. Nor are we engaging in learning to obliterate our study partners in dialectics with sharp rejoinders that show off our breadth and depth of Torah knowledge while simultaneously shredding their arguments and therefore their esteem.

Segulot are wonderful things, but they can never, ever replace the power of heartfelt tefillah.

Tzedakah is a tremendous mitzvah that can even save people from death. That should be sufficient motivation without the various chinese auctions.

There is so much more, but I'm not the one to list them exhaustively, at least not yet. Of course, everything mentioned above applies to myself as well; I am not any less guilty (or more innocent) than the next person, and my words are self directed; the rest of you happen to be reading over my shoulder.

I believe that we can all take stock and reorganize our priorities, but it means taking honest looks at the way we're living and appraising it with a critical eye. It's hard, painful work, but if I've learned anything about my brethren, though, it's that we are capable of it, and we will do it.

With love to all...

Apologies...

I received some pretty harsh e-mails responding to my posting of a YouTube video parodying a scene from a World War II movie featuring Adolf Hitler, in which the original subtitles were replaced with a rant about the Lakewood yeshiva system.

As Reb Y. commented, it's in very bad taste, and I regret posting the video. The truth is, I don't know why I decided to publish the video; to try and find a reasonable explanation after the fact would cheapen my words, and would insult my readers' intelligence.

Instead, I am apologizing.

I am sorry if anyone was insulted or hurt by this video.

Most of us know at least a few people who went through the horror of the Nazi death machine, and so many years later, the Holocaust is still a painful subject. I should know better. None of my grandparents would be laughing at this, despite the fact that the video makes a mockery of an enemy of Israel.

Again, please forgive me for my callousness.

Today is the yahrtzeit of my grandfather, Reb Eliezer ben R' Yitzchak Chaim A"H. He died five years ago, out of the blue, and I still miss him terribly.

PLease try to have him in mind during your tefillot (prayers) and learning throughout the day.

The Bobover Rebbe (1907 - 2000)

Tonight is the yahrtzeit (anniversary of death) of Rabbi Shlomo Halberstam, the third rebbe of Bobov. The rebbe was a holocaust survivor; after witnessing the death of his first wife and several of their children, he and his surviving son came to America to rebuild their dynasty. The Rebbe's wartime efforts and subsequent relocation to the States are chronicled in the book Nor The Moon By Night.


The Bobov community in New York, under the rebbe's tutelage, is also featured prominently in the 1987 documentary A Life Apart - Hasidism in America, narrated by Leonard Nimoy.


A regal figure with a shining countenance, the rebbe had a dazzling smile for everyone and piercing eyes that could barely be contained behind a pair of glasses. He exuded joy, and did everything with vigor and exuberance.

He was also extremely sensitive to people's needs, especially when it came to holocaust survivors. It goes without saying that the Shoah had a profound impact on his life; the rebbe composed a kinah (elegy) for the holocaust that has been accepted by all into the canon of the kinot of the Ninth of Av.

As I have mentioned earlier, I had the special z'chus (merit) to lay tefillin for the first time with the rebbe. Unfortunately, I didn't quite appreciate the significance of that event until later; at that point, I was more enamored by the fact that Mr. Spock was doing the voice-over in a movie about Chassidim than the rebbe actually featured in that movie. Still, the memory of that day is fresh in my mind, because of what happened after we prayed.

It was a cold, wintry morning, and I was nervous that I was going to get sick from my still-damp hair from the mikvah. I was all dressed up in a suit, and my father showed me how to button my jacket in a way that allowed me to have my shirtsleeve exposed to accommodate the tefillin. We were waiting for the rebbe to arrive in shul; the rebbe was still making his special preparations for the morning prayer. My father stressed the fact that the rebbe was a very holy man, and that I shouldn't be frightened by his intensity. Within a few minutes, the rebbe swept into the shul with a small entourage. He was already unwell at the time, so he had several people helping him move about. Even so, he carried himself with a certain dignity that I have not witnessed since.

While my father stood by proudly, and my grandfather (he should live and be well), stoic as ever, looked on, the rebbe took my hand in his, and helped me roll up my sleeve. He made sure that I knew the berachot on the tefillin, and the proceeded to show me how to wrap them, binding them to my head and arm in the tradition of our ancestors. My tefillin have never been wrapped as tightly around my arm as that first time when the rebbe helped me with them. When I close my eyes, I can still remember how it felt...

After shacharis, the rebbe's assistant informed us that we could have an audience with the rebbe in his study, but for only a few short minutes; the rebbe had many duties, as well as health concerns, and we could not expect to take up too much of his time. After receiving us, the rebbe gave me a large walnut covered in glitter.  He explained that it was used as an ornament in his father's succah, and that it had certain esoteric significance. After another minute or so of pleasantries, we rose to leave, when the rebbe suddenly put out his hand to stop us. My grandfather had been rolling down his sleeve when the rebbe noticed the familiar tattoo on his left arm. The rebbe signaled to his assistant to escort my father and I out of the office, and motioned my grandfather to sit back down.

We waited outside for an hour, while my grandfather and the rebbe spoke. When they came out, they were arm in arm, the two of them weeping together. I had never seen my grandfather so emotive; I don't believe my father ever had, either. Although my grandfather refused to reveal exactly what they had spoken about, it was pretty obvious, and that is where part of the rebbe's greatness lay: despite myriads of obligations, with all sorts of issues jockeying for the rebbe's attention, the rebbe could not let a Jew who had gone through the holocaust leave him without sharing his story. It's almost as if the rebbe needed to hear every testimony, every trial, every tale of hope and sorrow. His empathy was boundless; it enabled him - racked with illness and fatigue - to lend an ear to a Jew he had never met before in his life, and share in his pain.

What a tzaddik.


Z'chuso yagein aleinu (may his merit shield us all).

EVERY day is supposed to be a memorial...

At least, that's what my grandparents - survivors of the monstrosities carried out by the Nazis and their cohorts - always taught my parents, who in turn taught that to my generation.

Every family celebration, each new addition to the family, every aspect of our lives is a testimony to our resilience as God's chosen people, and how, no matter the strength and severity of adversity facing us, we will not be broken, we will not be cowed, we will rise again and rebuild, with His help and guidance.

This is one of the many reasons why we never observed the 27th of Nisan as "Yom HaShoah". Granted, on the established days of mourning in the Jewish calendar (such as the tenth of Teves and the ninth of Av), we did additional acts of remembrance for the millions of Kedoshim (holy ones) who sanctified God's name with their lives during the Holocaust. And yet, we were encouraged to learn about the Shoah all year round, to read as much literature as possible on the subject, to listen to our grandparents' stories about their experiences, and to be sensitive and respectful to the people we knew who had made it out alive.

As I was surfing the Jewish blogs today, I saw many religious bloggers talking about the Holocaust in honor of Yom HaShoah, sincerely wishing to pay their respects and remember the holy souls of our people who died in the inferno. I appreciate their desire, as I'm sure everyone does, but I have to take issue with the fact that many people seem to believe that Yom HaShoah is just that: "Yom" in the singular; only one day a year.

It isn't, and it can't be perceived that way.

First of all (and as a disclaimer, I want everyone to be aware that this isn't in any way meant as a political statement against the Israeli government), the month of Nisan is a month of joy. As such, we do not observe certain acts of mourning throughout the entirety of the month, and that includes days of rememberances with moments of silence and the lighting of candles and the like.

Whether those who established Yom HaShoah in the month of Nisan were aware of this is irrelevant to this discussion, because I am not trying to condemn anyone of any organization; I am only trying to raise an awareness of the issues at hand.

The second point is as I wrote earlier: I (humbly) don't beieve that one day does justice to the events we are striving to pay our respects to. One day simply cannot bear the strain of so many painful memories that are still so very fresh on our collective consciousness, and certainly not when observed the way it is. The ninth of Av, which is replete with fasting, sitting on the floor, observing traditional mourning customs, and abstaining from any relatively pleasurable activity, hardly does justice for the terrible suffering and anguish that we have suffered over the many years of Galus - how can Yom HaShoah possibly expect to accomplish anything if it is basically comprised of a few speeches, a memorial service, and two minutes of silence, and then "we return to your regular programing"?

My grandfather...

I told you I'd write a little about him, so...
My grandfather was born in 1917, in Bisztre, a small town then under Austrian- Hungarian authority. His father died when he was only two years old, and his mother was left to raise him all alone, but with the help of his uncle. After his bar mitzvah, he learned in a prestigious yeshiva in Viseu-de-Sus ( Ober- Vishiva), for a short period of time. For an orphan to stay in yeshiva at the time was very difficult, aside from the possibilities of being drafted, due to financial reasons.
In an effort to prevent my grandfather's being drafted in the regular infantry, which would mean definite spiritual death, if not physical, a relative procured for him a commision to join the calvary of the Rumanian army, whose quality of life seemed better. However, at the offset of the war, he was drafted into the Hungarian slave labor detail. Eventually, his detail was captured by the Russian army, and he served out the rest of the war as a P.O.W. He was lucky, though, as he was assigned to kitchen duty, which kept him out of danger, and more importantly, let him get food.
Once the war was over, he returned to Rumania (by then his hometown was under their authority), and married my grandmother, who happened to be the daughter of the Rosh Hakahal in Ruskove. In any other circumstance, it would be unheard of for an orphan to marry such a girl, but due to the war, things had to change. He always marveled at this stroke of fortune.
But life was hard in the old country. It was very difficult to find work, and the economy was basically non existent. So, when the communists took over the Rumanian government, the newlywed couple picked up and fled first to Budapest, and from there to Vienna. Finally, in 1948, they settled in Italy, where their eldest was born: my mom. During this whole time, my grandfather was working on getting a visa to the United States. It was only after they moved to Germany in 1951, and their second child, my uncle, was born, that they got a visa. They quickly picked up and set sail for the States, where they settled in Cleveland, where his brother in law (my grandmother's brother) was living. The two entered into a partnership as mason contractors, with my grandfather starting at the bottom as a bricklayer, and slowly working his way up.
My grandfather was very instrumental in helping build the original jewish community, especially the shul there. Later in the years, when all our extended family moved further out, he once again was heavily involved in the development of the community, and even had the new shul in his house for a brief amount of time.
Everyone respected him, and not out of fear. It was an appreciation of someone who strived to keep things the way they were in a time when modernization was on the lips of every newcomer. He also understood the meaning of hakaras hatov, reciprocating the chesed done to him as a child when his uncle helped raise him by in turn taking care of his cousins who struggled in later years. His greatest earthly joy was us, his grandchildren. All of us have fond memories of shabbos afternoons spent in his house, listening to his stories, every week the same one. He was always available to lend his car out, or to help smooth things over with a little cash.
I called him for the past three years every erev shabbos. He predictably asked the same three questions every week: "How's the learning?" "How are the chavrusas?" and "How's the weather?" After answering him, and then a brief chat, he'd always end off with "You make me proud.." For some reason, I always took that as a command, that I should make him proud. Now, as I think about it, I realize he was saying that I do make him proud.
I hope so, Zeidy...I sure hope so....
Originally posted Monday, 21 November 2005

Crazy week so far...

Hey....
I'm dead tired right now, because I haven't slept normally (even by my standards) in a couple of days. My grandfather passed away sunday night. I'm going back to america before shabbos, and hope to return to the Holy Land as soon as possible. I'm a little out of it right now, bt when I get it a little more together, i will try to tell you all about him.
Don't worry about me, I always bounce back.
Be strong everybody. :)
Originally posted Wednesday, 16 November 2005